


The Brother Deluxe 1522

by Emblue_Sparks



Series: SPN Cold Hits [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Grieving Sam Winchester, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Setting things right, Summoning, Unexpected Results
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-24 16:55:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30075384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emblue_Sparks/pseuds/Emblue_Sparks
Summary: When a grieving Sam summons Naomi to verify Dean's okay, a mysterious object imbued with a unique power appears instead.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Series: SPN Cold Hits [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2109714
Comments: 10
Kudos: 12
Collections: SPNColdestHits





	The Brother Deluxe 1522

**Author's Note:**

> Even though I chose this month's theme of "Spell's Gone Awry" I changed my idea four times. My writing really fought me and still, I can't truly say the spell went wrong, but it did yield some unexpected results. C'est la vie quelleque choses🤷
> 
> Thanks to ioascc for the beta🙏, if any mistakes remain, they're my own.

It'd been three weeks since Dean died. Sam was levitating in grief. Beside himself with anger and despair, he couldn't let it go. He needed to know his brother was okay. But he didn't want to overwhelm Jack. His pulse thrummed from the excessive caffeine intake as he tried recalling the few angel's still alive. This had to be done the right way, through official channels. 

Best he could tell, Naomi was it. Maybe one or two others, but he never bothered remembering their names. He checked the Enochian texts one, two, and three times making sure the sigil was correct. Painting it against the library wall, he read off the summoning spell and touched the sigil after repeating it four times. Upon the dripping red smear illuminating the room, he shielded his eyes from the oncoming celestial who'd been responsible for more than a little havoc wreaked in their lives.

When the illumination subsided, the room went back to normal, including the absence of Naomi. His heart sank and his stomach twisted. Okay, sleep was no longer optional, he got that. But he just had to check the summoning spell again to see where he'd gone wrong. After rereading the spell numerous times, his eyes were blurry and stung. There had been no mistake, the spell had been executed flawlessly. 

Putting the Enochian book on the shelf for the night, he noticed an object on a small table in between two chairs where a chess board usually rested. In its place was a vintage typewriter. Admittedly he hadn't been in a good head space since losing Dean, but the contraption had _not_ been there before. So what did he do now? What was it supposed to mean, if anything?

Sam collected a few ingredients for another spell and carefully put the typewriter in a box(using oven mitts in case it was cursed). Fifteen minutes later he was roaming the halls of Hell, requesting an audience with Rowena. 

She welcomed him with a fierce hug. "I'm sorry, Sam. When I heard the news I didn't want to believe it."

"I still can't believe it myself. But I, uh, summoned Naomi to ask if Dean's alright and the spell didn't work. I made sure I did it correctly, anyways, this just appeared in the library afterwards and I was hoping you could check it for curses or anything else?"

She seemed confused, but nonetheless very willing to look it over. Once it was safely set upon her desk in the study, she ran a few perfunctory tests; one of which yielded rather intriguing results. The typewriter began typing on it's own.

"Well it's not cursed, but let's put some paper in there to see if it's jibberish or an actual message," Rowena concluded with interest. 

Pulling parchment from her desk, she rolled it in until it was properly in place. The message was short, mysterious, but regardless, it carried weight.

"TEST ONCE. THEN CHOOSE YOUR WORDS WISELY."

"I wonder…." Rowena trailer off, deep in thought for a minute and then yelled, "Jeffrey!!!"

Sam watched as the familiar demon cautiously entered her office and kept as far away from him as possible. 

_What does he think I'm going to do to him here?_ Sam pondered.

Rowena prompted, "Jeffrey, be a dear and tell me what it is you want the most in this moment."

He looked at them with extreme hesitancy when answering, "A dog, to care for."

When seeing Sam's expression, he quickly added, "I'm an asshole alright? But killing that dog is the one thing I regret and wish I could make it right."

Rowena rolled eyes before typing a message on the typewriter. 

"Jeffrey yearns to care for a dog." 

She shrugged at Sam, yet before she could comment on the matter, her eyes flickered a deep purple when becoming distracted by something in the hallway approaching the door. 

"Interesting…" she murmured.

Sam noticed an odd environmental displacement, as if something nearly invisible crept in the room. Then he heard the unmistakable rumble and growl from a hellhound. Jeffrey began to tremble and reach his hand out, unsure where the hellpupper was exactly. In a flash, his hand was a bloody stump and he was screaming. A second later, a slightly more visible hound playfully nosed at him, knocking him over flat. The hound proceeded to drag him out of the room by his shoe. 

Jeffrey might be eaten or lose a few appendages in hell play, but he'd gotten what he'd asked for.

"This machine appears to give the writer the ability to manifest what they write," Rowena finally assessed.

"What like the Mirror of Erised in Harry Potter? If you look into it it shows you your greatest desire." Sam immediately wanted to know.

Rowena shot him an exasperated look, she was not a fan of the cinematic portrayal of her craft. "You have to input your desire into the machine to make it happen. But heed the message Samuel, you must choose your words wisely. You mustn't waste them. Whomever has gifted you this machine also gave you the means to craft your desire to the letter. That in and of itself is key."

This was a heavy matter and he was exhausted. Running his hand over his face, he decided, "I need sleep. And a shower. I'll think it over afterwards."

"Rest well. I wish I could...be more help to you." She sounded like she really did. 

"Thank you, Rowena. For everything." He hugged her tightly, thankful for her true, albeit bizarre friendship. 

When he got home, he hugged Eileen before hitting the sack. The next morning, he was still stumped. Did he attempt this himself? He'd always prided himself on his past precision with spell work, yet here he'd just gone and somehow screwed up the summoning spell. He was still dithering over coffee when Charlie plunked down at the kitchen table across from him. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" she cautiously inquired.

He brought her up to date on the situation, noting how she tensed when he mentioned the summoning, but she faithfully listened to the entire story. 

"I met someone while we were gone…" she announced.

It took him by surprise given he'd just barfed an incredibly emotional predicament out and she immediately left turned into relationship-ville.

"Oh..things with Stevie didn't work out?"

Befuddled, she replied, "Things with Stevie are actually pretty great, but I meant someone who might be able to help you with this weirdo typewriter situation, you big goof."

"Oh..jeez, sorry I misunderstood." He needed more rest. He was going to get more regular sleep. 

"I met your friend Becky and she poured out her whole story."

A wall of nausea hit him like a Mack truck. "You have no idea-"

"I actually have all of the ideas. When she found out who I was, she spilled her guts to me, dude. And I mean _everything_. She feels terrible about what she did to you. Ya know she's happily married with children now?"

No he didn't because he wasn't a stalker. "How is she supposed to help? She writes creepy fanfic."

Charlie grabbed his wrist and twisted it, applying pressure to a nerve he never knew he had.

"Ow! Dammit!"

"Writing is writing!" Charlie barked, clearly riled. She let his wrist go and continued to rant about antiquated, preconceived notions regarding fanfiction and what Chuck had threatened to do to him and Dean. 

"She even had an alternative ending in mind she wanted to write about if we made it back, which we did."

"What was it?" He was suddenly interested. Whether it was out of general fatigue, desperation, he didn't know.

"I'm not telling," Charlie insisted, but couldn't hold back a tiny smile. "But, it was pretty short and sweet."

"Dean got the short, minus the sweet. I'd be happy with just hearing he's okay and living my life the way I want to."

"Call her. In fact. I'm calling her. It'd be good for you both to bury the hatchet."

"I don't know."

She got up from the table, hugged him close, and perched on the table where they both sat. "She's grown a lot Sam. And from what she gushed about in her own stories, it sounds like she writes well rounded narratives. I really think you should let her give it a try."

AU or not, Sam trusted Charlie. If she was vouching for Becky, maybe he should try trusting her too.

"Alright. Make the call."

Two days later, a very nervous Becky arrived at the bunker. She didn't bounce around, nor did she have any wild gleams in her eye. She didn't even try to hug him. The calm in her demeanor was convincing enough to Sam she'd made honest improvement in her life. 

Becky did grow a little wide eyed at the bunker as he showed her to the library where the typewriter rested on the table. He decided he'd give her the tour after she finished writing, in gratitude for helping bring peace to Dean in heaven, and peace of mind to him on Earth. He wished so much she could pull Cas out of the Empty too, but didn't want to push his luck. 

Before leaving her to work he offered, "Let me know if you need anything, we'll just be in the kitchen."

"Thanks Sam. I hope I'm giving you guys the proper ending you deserve, I appreciate the chance, either way." 

He noticed a single tear escape her eye, but she quickly wiped it away and gave Sam a bright smile. Not wanting to follow suit, he simply said, "I'm sure you will," and scurried off to the kitchen where Charlie and Eileen were waiting for him with a hot cup of tea.

The girls went over the veil, where they'd been kept as if in a holding tank. Sam quietly sat, watching their discussion, quietly processing. A few hours later, Becky shyly entered the kitchen holding a thin, blue manuscript envelope.

"Finished," she softly announced, extending the envelope to Sam. 

A relief anchored itself within him as he took the envelope from her. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, Sam."

He moved to give her a hug but she put up her hand and stepped back, shaking her head. "Can I have a quick tour before I head home? I've wanted to see this place for years."

"Sure," he replied, more than happy to complete her request. 

Charlie jumped up and hugged her, then Becky signed to Eileen, "It's really nice to meet you. I think you make Sam really happy."

Eileen grinned at her while signing back, "Nice to meet you too, and I hope so."

Sam found giving Becky the tour kind of reset their creepy, rocky start. She really had changed for the better and he was glad for it. All three waved to Becky as she drove away. When they descended the stairs to the War room two figures in the library greeted them, appearing just as shocked as Sam and the girls were. Eileen's soft hand laced itself in his as he took in how Dean was wearing the same clothes he died in, but they were clean and pressed. Beside him was Cas, in his trench coat and tax account garb. He noticed they too, were holding hands. Sam was frozen. He didn't know how to process. 

Charlie voiced what he could not. "You guys aren't ghosts, right? You're really back?"

Dean patted himself and Cas, then replied, "We're real, but I got no clue how we're back."

"I do," Sam admitted before Dean practically mowed him over in the tightest big brother hug they'd ever shared. 

After both shed a few tears and the girls stopped babbling about Cas and hugging him to excess, Sam pulled the thin blue envelope off the shelf to show them.

Sam stated, "I don't feel like opening it, even for a peek. It's like looking a gift horse in the mouth."

"I told you it was short and sweet," Charlie said while gently punching his arm. 

Sam happened to glance at the spot on the library table where the typewriter had been, noticing it'd vanished. He decided not to examine the situation too closely. His brother was back. Cas was back. And they were free to live their lives as they chose. It was the shortest, sweetest, most unexpected ending ever. And the one they all deserved. 

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic references the model of typewriter I selected because the name immediately jumped at me for obvious reasons. Below is a link to the models description and a picture. I had a very vintage typewriter growing up that looked far more turn-of-the-century and was heavy AF. It was much older than this 1980 Brother Deluxe 1522, but I had a blast tinkering with it and now I want to buy all of these listed in this article. 
> 
> https://word-power.co.uk/best-typewriters-guide/


End file.
